


sound the bells

by glorious_clio



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Gen, May the 4th, Post-Star Wars: Bloodline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24002452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_clio/pseuds/glorious_clio
Summary: “Your home is gorgeous,” Leia said, settling herself on a comfortable stool to watch the tea preparations. “Although I rather suspected you lived in a treehouse.”“Like an Ewok?” Amilyn said with a grin. “I see the advantage — easier to spot danger coming.”“And is danger coming?”“Isn’t that why you’ve come, General?”Leia swallowed her thoughts, her slow burning anger at the Senate’s failure. “Tea first.”Following the events ofBloodline,Leia is doing the work of shoring up the Resistance as well as closing the chapter on her time as a Senator. Although she tries to work quickly, the Galaxy is in a bigger hurry to fall apart.
Relationships: Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	sound the bells

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RingThroughSpace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RingThroughSpace/gifts).



It started by leaving the Senate. Oh, not permanently, not yet. She still had a seat, at least until her term was up. But she was invited to Gatalenta to attend Tai-Lin Garr’s "lying in". Funerary rites varied by system, and Leia Organa had to do a bit of research on her friend’s homeworld. Even now, there was always more to learn. 

Threepio and Korr Sella were running her office in her absence (a formality — mostly they were forwarding communiques through a secure channel). Ackbar was managing a certain secured hangar far from the Senatorial buildings. 

Here on Gatalenta, Leia had work to do, too. 

She’d convinced Greer Sonnel and Joph Seastriker, her pilots and aides this trip, to stay behind in their rented quarters, and when Amilyn Holdo opened the door to her home with bare feet, Leia knew she was right.

Anyway, Amilyn was an old friend. 

“Your Grace.” A familiar smile crossed her friend’s face. 

Leia waved her hand to brush it away. “No titles, this is a friendly visit.”

Amilyn, hair green and pulled into a half-tail, let out a laugh. She stepped back to welcome Leia in. 

“Shall I make tea?” 

“Please,” Leia said. Gatalenta had the best tea in the galaxy, and learning to brew it correctly was a rite of passage in every family. 

Leia pulled off her boots before following Amilyn in stocking feet through her home. It was a light, breezy sort of place, with a bright courtyard at the center that they crossed to get to the kitchen. The tiles in the courtyard had been swept recently, and Leia trusted her socks wouldn't get dirty. 

“Your home is gorgeous,” Leia said, settling herself on a comfortable stool to watch the tea preparations. “Although I rather suspected you lived in a treehouse.”

“Like an Ewok?” Amilyn said with a grin. “I see the advantage — easier to spot danger coming.”

“And _is_ danger coming?”

“Isn’t that why you’ve come, General?”

Leia swallowed her thoughts, her slow burning anger at the Senate’s failure. “Tea first.”

“Indeed. Tea, and then we’ll lift our sails up for one last swell.” 

Amilyn was often like this, as if composing poems no one else knew. Even her tea preparations looked more like a practiced meditative trance, the timing was something Leia could have used to set her chrono. 

They took the tea to the sunshine in the courtyard. Leia took a first sip, its hot brightness and sweetness swept quickly across her tongue, leaving the darker, almost earthy undertones to blossom. Gatalentan tea, as only a daughter of Gatalenta could brew. Leia closed her eyes, enjoying its pleasure to the fullest. 

“Well then, the writing is already on the wall,” Amilyn encouraged. 

Leia exhaled slowly, then opened her eyes. “Let me tell you about the last, oh, month or so in the Galactic Senate.”

“And what you believe to be the truth of Tai-Lin Garr’s death.”

“Yes.” Leia swirled the tea in her cup. As airy as Amilyn often appeared, it wasn’t surprising to anyone who knew her that she paid close attention to current events. Leia knew intelligence didn’t have to look a certain way, and that wasn’t the same thing as perception, anyway.

Leia changed the subject. “Are you going to his lying in?” 

“I wasn't invited, I didn't know him. Though we do mourn his loss on Gatalenta. The Council of Mothers have stopped all the bells until the lying in has concluded.” Amilyn nodded her approval. 

Leia’s research failed her. “Stop the bells?”

“Literally, no bells will be rung. The silence marks our grief. Unless there's an immediate threat, but even then, there are better ways to communicate with the people.”

“I see.” 

“Good. Now, say what you came here to say.”

So Leia, pausing for tea, for breath, for composure, painted the story for Amilyn, of the Napkin bombing, of the Nikto crime syndicate, the Amaxine warriors. Of the Populists and the brief spark of hope she'd felt meeting with Ransolm Casterfo of Riosa near the end of the story. Her voice shook as she spoke of his impending fate, of being blamed for Tai-Lin’s death. 

“It’s very tangled,” Amilyn said when Leia finished. “It was so easy to set ourselves against the Empire. But this undercurrent of darkness? This slow consolidation of power by whoever is pulling the Populists’ strings?”

“It might not be the Populists, or all of them,” Leia said fairly. 

“And as you say, you’ve lost much of your voice.”

Leia took another sip of her tea. Even that revelation was complicated. 

Amilyn did not mention Vader. Evidently she was unconcerned by her friend’s accidental paternity. It was just like her not to care. 

“So, what's your plan?” Amilyn asked again. 

“You assume I have one.” Leia worked very hard not to sigh. 

“You do, I know you. You didn’t come here just to tell me your woes.”

“Well, there are... a few pilots. And Ackbar.”

“Of course.” Amilyn leaned back in her chair. “Oh and boys bear it well, put all your paper maps away.” 

Was she quoting again? Was this more research Leia had slipped up on? She swallowed the last of her tea. 

“I thought about meeting with the Council of Mothers. I don’t have an appointment yet, though.”

Amilyn Holdo did not work in government anymore. She was a skyfaring instructor, Leia knew. Amilyn shook her head. “They aren’t rulers, they’re more... judicial. They won’t have any use for your cause. They’ll just tell you that the people of Gatalenta will do as they will.” 

Leia toyed with her empty teacup and thought of Tai-Lin, of allies, and of picking your battles when you had the luxury. She trusted Amilyn’s advice now. No Council. And anyway, she ought to take time to grieve. And rage. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


The sun rose in the west in Gatalenta, and the day-long ceremony of Tai-Lin’s lying in was a grueling one. How many funerals had Leia attended in her life? How many more before her own? The language of Tai-Lin Garr’s was different, but the model, across the galaxy was always the same: a gathering, a burial of the body, and then the breaking of bread. 

What was there to dwell on? Tai-Lin’s spirit was gone from the Senate, gone from Gatalenta. They believed he had passed to the next world. Leia knew of the Force, but Tai-Lin wasn’t there, either. 

“Leia.”

Han’s voice called her back, to the apartments they were staying in, to the ales they were sharing after the funeral dinner, to the eastern sunset they were watching. She shook her head to clear her own thoughts. 

“Sorry,” she offered. 

“You’re making to-do lists,” he admonished gently. 

She wasn’t, but she smiled and said, “You caught me.” 

Leia pulled a blanket over her lap. She wasn’t cold, not with him radiating heat next to her, but she wanted the weight on her legs. 

“I promise to pay better attention to you," she said. "After all, you're the winner of this year’s Sabers!”

“Only the manager,” he said. All the same, he preened a bit, sitting up a little straighter, fixing his hair and running his tongue over his teeth. 

She hadn’t told him about her plans. Not yet. 

Instead, they talked of other things: next year’s racing prospects, a recent comm from Chewie, their plans to visit Ben and Luke.... Leia was pretending things were normal. Well, their version of it, anyway. She didn’t want to talk about her impending resignation from the Senate, her resistance, about Ackbar and a ship full of detonators and a small posse of pilots that had a familiar glint in their eyes. But she wouldn’t be able to ask Han to join her this time. He would never again be a general, even if she asked very nicely. The first round had been an exception to the rule, the character of Han Solo. Those exceptions were why she fell in love with him in the first place. He’d show up when she asked (the holonet called him the consort; he joked he was arm candy), but a funeral was different than a war. 

He was rambling on and on, and she let him, content to watch him brag about his racers. He was a good mentor to them all, and he liked his work. His face was alight with passion. When was the last time she felt that way? (The Hangar Bay, wrapped in his leather jacket, drawing the threads of a new resistance.)

Han dropped his arm suddenly, losing his train of thought. 

“You’re quiet — should I change the subject?” he asked. 

Leia set her half-finished ale on the table in front of them to move closer to him on the couch, he rested his arm around her shoulders. She took her hair out after the lying in, and he was playing with it now. His weight was as welcome as the blanket on her lap, his hands a familiar comfort.

“I’m just sad, I guess. And tired.”

He dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. “It was a long day. I know Tai-Lin was your friend....” Han trailed off. Han didn’t have much in common with Tai-Lin, they hadn’t been close. He came today because of Leia, and because in the morning they were leaving to visit Ben. 

“Yes. He was. And I’ve been thinking about my father — Bail,” she clarified. “He was... a much better Senator than I turned out to be.”

Han ran his hand up and down her arm, steady and soothing. He didn’t try and dissuade her, he couldn’t objectively compare the Organa Senators. She was grateful he didn’t try. Instead, he said, “Let’s go to bed.”

“Flirt.”

Han laughed. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


“What do you say to your teenage son when you haven’t seen him in six months, and in the meantime, word got out that his biological grandfather was a genocidal maniac who tortured me and destroyed my planet?”

Sure, Tarkin had given the command, but Vader hadn’t lifted a finger to stop it, and Leia didn’t feel like playing fair. 

Han’s hands stilled on the controls of the _Mirrorbright_. They’d paid for Joph and Greer’s passage back to Hosnian Prime; this would be a family visit. 

“I don’t _kriffing_ know. It’s not like either of us had a normal upbringing, but he got dealt a different sabbac hand, that’s for damn sure.”

“Yeah.” 

Leia leaned back in the co-pilot’s seat. She rarely sat up here, but Han liked piloting the _Mirrorbright_. It was a flashy ship, not as fast as his support ships for racing, but with a few modifications that spoke to his smuggler’s heart. Kicking Greer and Joph out had been a good idea. 

But her thoughts lingered on Ben... and Bail. What had her father’s message said?

_“You were hidden with us, for your own safety, and that of your brother....”_

Padmé Amidala’s children could not have fallen into the hands of the Empire, to be shaped into weapons of darkness, like the Death Star. Hiding the truth until now was the same decision Bail and Breha made all those years ago.

Luke no doubt had to explain to all his students what might be a parable by now: the fall and return of Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight. But hearing the truth from an uncle, one with a happy ending, versus a parent, one who still carried more distrust than forgiveness.... 

Han eased the _Mirrorbright_ out of lightspeed, prompting Leia to prep for landing. The next moments were given over to the practice of finding solid ground near the Jedi Temple. 

The temple grounds were still but for a mild breeze. Leia drew a light cloak over her comfortable travel clothes. Her hair was caught up in a tight, tight crown braid. Han took her hand as they made their way up the path. By the time they reached the gate, Master Luke Skywalker was there to greet them. 

He looked how she felt: tired, stressed. Trying to hold together. His face had more lines since last she saw him, and his mouth was a thin scar.

“What’s wrong?” they both asked at the same time.

Han laughed, too high and quick, betraying his discomfort. 

“We should talk,” said Luke. 

“After I speak to my son,” Leia said. 

“Very well,” Luke replied.

“We’re taking him to the _Mirrorbright_ ,” Leia said. “Please join us for dinner, later.” 

“You can’t leave,” Luke said.

“We can if we want,” Han warned.

Leia rested a soothing hand on Luke’s shoulder. “That’s not the plan. Now, where is Ben?”

“Here I am,” came his voice, so changed since last they spoke. Not quite breaking, not yet the drop an adolescent human boy could expect. Something brittle, reedy. 

Luke turned suddenly to face his nephew in his shadow. 

“Ben,” Leia said, holding out her hands to him. She took him in as he stepped closer: his hair was lank, there were a few spots on his face. His cheeks still had a trace of his baby fat. 

He allowed her to pull him into an obligatory hug, stiff in her embrace, muttering “Mom” against her shoulder. Han clapped him on the back, and Leia let him go so the two could embrace. He was still about the same height as Luke, and Leia was glad she hadn’t missed his final growth spurt. And then she remembered that she _would_ miss it. The next time he called her, he might well sound like a completely different person, a young man, even. 

Ben fixed his hair where Han had ruffled it, and she smiled at the vanity. He looked so impossibly young, still her baby. She linked her arm through his. “Come on, we’re having family time.” 

He allowed her to lead him, and Han brought up the rear, not saying much. Perhaps, like her, not knowing what to say. It was so much easier when Ben was smaller, learning words. They could strap him into a sling and narrate their days to him. 

On the _Mirrorbright_ , Han suggested they go to the galley for a drink. “And not tea, either,” Han tried to tease. Leia smiled. 

Instead he pulled out three Corellian ales. Before he passed one to Ben, however, he held out his other hand. 

“A little treat. But hand over your ‘saber. Drinking and weapons are a bad idea.”

“Like you and mom aren’t carrying blasters,” he stalled.

“No ‘saber, no ale.”

Ben hesitated, scowled, then gave it to Han. “Be _careful_ with it.”

“It’s not going far, kid,” Han set, setting it up on top of the conservator. 

“It’s not like I couldn’t get it from there if I needed it.”

Leia ignored the snarl in Ben’s voice and instead cocked her head to play innocent. “Why would you need it?”

Ben shrugged and sullenly opened the ale with an ease that made her think Luke’s students were no strangers to a sneaky drink when he wasn’t looking. She decided not to comment, instead looking to Han. He winked at her, as if to say, _Well that seems normal enough_.

Leia allowed her son a few sips before saying, “I want you to know how hard these past few weeks have been, not least because this was information I wanted you to get from me.”

Ben said nothing. Han looked like he was holding his breath.

When no one said anything, Leia asked in her gentlest voice, “Ben, how are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“Really,” Han said. It sounded like an accusation. 

“Uncle Luke explained it to us. When the news broke. You didn’t need to come.”

“I did. I need to talk to you about this.”

“A few weeks later?”

His words hit her like a blaster bolt. He was right, she should have come sooner. She should have told him years ago.

“Ben,” Han said, tension rising in his voice.

“You want to know how I am? Confused. That you didn’t tell me before, that it had to be some big dark secret, that my grandfather was the most powerful Force user ever!”

“But look at how he used that power," Leia argued. "To hurt the Galaxy, to hurt your father, your uncle. To hurt _me._ ” 

Ben shook his hair into his face, folding his arms into the sleeves of his cloak. A familiar scowl settled on his features. 

“Mostly I’m confused about why you bothered to come at all,” he said.

“That’s _enough_ , Ben!” Han slammed his bottle down, the ale splashed on the table. 

“Han-”

“No,” he told Leia, then turned to his son, pointing his finger. “You do not get to talk to your mother like that. You’re the one who wanted to become a Jedi, you agreed to be trained by Luke. Your mom doesn’t like to talk about her past because of what Vader did. I was there for most of it, kid. Count your blessings that you weren’t.” 

Han stormed out of the galley. Ben said nothing, melting into his robes. His silence was prickly, and suddenly tinged with something... Leia couldn’t place the feeling. She reached out to him and found him closed off from her. 

She cleared her throat. “Whatever our bloodline, I hope that in time you will understand my motives. I was much older than you are now when Luke told me. I certainly understood why my parents kept it a secret.”

Ben reached out a shaky hand and took another sip of his ale, swallowing deeply. He settled the drink again and muttered, “Sorry.”

Leia wasn’t sure for what, but she accepted the apology. She scooted her chair closer to him. 

“You know, when you were born with all your black hair, my first thought was that you must have gotten it from Bail. Even though that’s not possible, that’s what family is - the people you choose, the people who choose you. Luke was my brother long before we found out we were twins. Someday, you will choose your own family.

“And I’m sorry, so very, very sorry, Ben.”

He shook his hair back again. The smile Leia gave her son was a bit watery, but a smile nonetheless. 

His mouth quirked like Han’s sometimes did. 

“Stay here, I’m gonna go talk to your father. Otherwise it’s going to be an awkward dinner I invited Luke to.” She stood. 

“Something tells me you’ve had a few awkward dinners with him,” Ben remarked dryly. 

“Play nice, or I’m taking your ale away.” She reached over. 

He was too fast. Pulling the bottle to his lips, Ben chugged the rest of it. 

Leia finally laughed. 

When Leia found Han, he’d cooled off. She pushed him and Ben together in the galley: “Show Ben how to make those spicy Theronian noodles.” 

Soon she heard Han bragging, Ben needling him, but the mood had lightened; Han wasn’t taking offense to any of Ben’s verbal barbs. Leia even let her hair down into a looser braid, tension melting off her for now.

When Luke arrived, his somber face was what she now had to deal with. 

“The noodles aren’t quite done," she told him. "Come into my office.” 

“No, I... I think I was just stressed when you came earlier. I'm feeling a lot better now. I can tell Ben is, too. I’m glad you came.”

Leia smiled, but still said, “Are you sure? Whatever you’re worried about - I can handle it.”

“I am. Unless you need to talk?”

Leia thought guiltily of her fledgling resistance, of her missions the past few weeks on behalf of the Senate. She knew she needed to ask Luke for help, to loop him in. Not to turn his students, _her son,_ into soldiers, Leia did not want to repeat the mistakes of the Jedi Council in the Clone Wars. She’d need him by her side once again. But not now.

“No. Let’s go set the table. I’m starved.”

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  


Back on Hosnian Prime as her last day as Senator crept ever closer, she dreamed, nightmared, about the Death Star. Holding the disc with the plans — smooth, hard, cold — in her grasp. The torture she lived through, Vader rippping through her thoughts, looking for them.

The last thing her parents saw, that perverse moon.

Luke blowing it up, at the cost of most of the Rebel Alliances remaining fleet after Scarif. And the countless people that had been aboard the Death Star. She thought of them now, in a way she hadn’t at nineteen. How had they come to be there? Did they make a choice? Did they make a choice every day, or was the banal conformity, the white sterile atmosphere, just a routine? 

Leia woke again, breathing heavy, rage simmering through her veins. 

She worked through her rage, feeling the emotion as she went through the last few days in the Senate. And then going to her seedling resistance. Anger was one thing, allowing it to control her was where madness lay in wait. 

Ackbar had suggested a base on D’Qar. 

Leia signed off on it, but she couldn’t shake a thought that she was forgetting something. They began moving there. Personnel. Shelter, supplies, supply _lines_. And the slow but steady lines of recruitment. Shara Bey’s son came to her in person: voice deep, baby fat gone, with the stretched look that told her he hadn’t built out his sudden height yet. A fresh-faced recruit, ready to fight the same fight his parents had fought. She sent him to Kijimi to follow up on some rumors she heard about the presence of the First Order. He’d no doubt toughen up and cut his teeth. (He was only a few years older than Ben, Leia thought with a twinge.)

And then, soon after, her world fell apart again. 

In a meeting with Harter Kalonia, Leia suddenly went cold all over and slumped down, collapsing into the battered chair underneath her. 

“General,” Harter leaned over and immediately felt for Leia’s pulse. “What are you feeling? When did you last eat?”

Leia felt what had blocked her from her son, only ten times, a hundred times worse. Feeling dread and nausea climb her throat, she gagged, sobbed. 

Harter pressed a hand to Leia’s forehead, cheek. “If you can’t tell me what’s wrong, I’m calling an ambulance. 

“No. I need... I need Luke Skywalker,” Leia managed. “I need my son. Get them on my comm. Now.”

“You need a meddroid-”

“Absolutely not,” Leia said with a shudder. She roused herself. Got shakily to her feet. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Leia!” 

She sent comms, messages, to Luke, to Ben, hell even to Artoo- something was wrong, the Force was _screaming_ at her, and that feeling that she missed something was sounding like a klaxon. She rushed home on the battered speeder, barely aware of the traffic, waiting for a ping to her comm, to explain what the hell had gone wrong and how to fight. 

It felt like Alderaan but not like Alderaan. 

When she arrived home, she paced her living room, kicking boxes from her office in the Senate compound out of the way. Waiting desperately for Luke, she messaged her staff; she would not be back this afternoon. She didn’t message Han, not yet. She didn’t know what to tell him, how to explain the screaming in her head. He was back on Theronia with his racers, hadn’t seen her collapse, couldn’t see her now. 

At some level, she knew she shouldn’t wait alone, but couldn’t think of anyone to call. Threepio was mercifully still at her office packing files with the rest of her staff. She would go somewhere, anywhere, but she didn’t know where the problem was, why she felt so cold, and Luke and Ben were still _alive_ but _what_ she didn’t know. 

Hours of agony later — what did she do in that time? It was lost, Leia couldn’t remember — Artoo arrived at her front door, scorched and more battered than he was just a few short weeks ago. 

“What?!” she was not in control of her emotions. “BEN? Where is my son?! Why hasn’t Luke comm’d back?!” 

This little astromech had always met her every demand. Now, he bleeped sadly, binary code, telling her what had happened, that Luke’s Temple had been destroyed. 

She was listening. She wasn’t listening. 

But she knew it was true. 

Her son had turned to the dark side, seduced by Supreme Leader Snoke, and Leia wanted to tear everything apart, everything she had worked so hard to build. 

The tabloids had called Ben the last prince of Alderaan when he was born. She brought him to meetings curled up against her breasts in his sling. She tried to teach him the ways of the Force that she knew, about control and about negotiation and empathy and using it to heal. Han taught him to fly and to be free, and then Luke knew he needed more and her baby had wanted to go with his uncle, learn the ways of the Jedi.

If he had stayed with her, would this have happened?

She wanted to tear the Galaxy apart, tear this mysterious Snoke apart, and rip the dark from her son’s soul... _you can,_ some evil part of her whispered. _You are powerful in the Force, you can tear the Galaxy apart to piece your family back together. Get your ’saber, or build a new one._

No. That hadn’t gotten Anakin Skywalker anywhere, she told this voice very, very firmly. The violence of her thoughts didn’t take her by surprise, but she wouldn’t listen to it.

 _You can,_ it said, more quietly this time. 

I know, she thought. I know I could, and I won’t.

She’d have to tell Han. He should hear it from her, that their son, their son, had followed the dark side, and had dragged all but one of his classmates to the dark side with him. The Knights of Ren. What did that even mean?

She had work to do. A fight, a cause. Find Luke, stop the First Order, get her son back. 

But she was done here. 

Leia went to the large mirror above the vanity. After a deep breath, she looked herself in the eyes as she undid her elaborate crown braid, combing it out for the last time. Her hands shaking, she took a pair of scissors. After the first cut, it was easy. On Alderaan, this was the sign of ultimate grief. She wasn’t the same Princess who decided to keep it after her planet perished. Now, she was a mother to a lost son that she had to find. She turned away from the mirror, her hair impossibly light, swishing around her ears. 

She went to her front closet, grabbed a go-bag that was always packed and ready. The clothes she was wearing would do well enough, the apartment was reasonably secure. Without explanation, she comm’d Greer a short message, to release her final official Statement as a Senator, a few days early: A challenge to her colleagues to do something useful to the galaxy, to band together against tyranny, against facism. In all her years as a politician, she’d never released a statement this blunt. 

And as she boarded the unmarked Resistance shuttle with Artoo in her wake, she sent another message. 

To Amilyn: 

“Sound the bells.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2020’s Fandom Trumps Hate auction, and finished just in time to post on May the 4th! Happy Star Wars Day, one and all. I hope you like it, RingThroughSpace! Thank you for your generous contribution. 
> 
> Thank you to mrstater for beta’ing this fic! It was a bit messy when I sent it to you. Writing is hard right now! Any mistakes are mine alone. 
> 
> Amilyn’s “poetry,” as well as the title, all come from the song “Sound the Bells” by Dessa which was also on my writing playlist for this story. 
> 
> On a personal note, I want to say to you, dear reader: I hope you are safe and well. May the Force be with you.


End file.
